At The Stroke Of Midnight
by lalapine
Summary: A movie brings out some hidden emotion for Mulder and Scully


TITLE - At The Stroke Of Midnight  
AUTHOR - Tammy M. Parnell  
EMAIL ADDRESS: LaLapine@aol.com  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, as long as my name & disclaimer are on it  
SPOILER WARNING: Memento Mori, the movie   
RATING: PG  
CLASSIFICATION: S, R   
SUMMARY: A movie brings out some hidden emotion  
DISCLAIMER: The are not mine. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television, and the very talented actors who portray them. The movie and lines mentioned are also not mine, just from a good tearjerker about C.S. Lewis and his cancer-afflicted friend.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Go rent It's worth it.  
  
At The Stroke Of Midnight  
by Tammy M. Parnell  
  
The real tests of courage are the inner tests,   
like remaining faithful when nobody's looking,   
like enduring pain when the room is empty, like   
standing alone when you're misunderstood.--Unknown  
  
He lay awake, listening to the reassuring sound of her breath, steady and strong. The digital clock on the nightstand read 11:35 p.m. Yawning quietly, his hazel eyes remained open to the moonlight, which was streaming in through cracks in the blinds, forming a diagonal falling over the two beds in the FBI-issued motel room. At least there's no cockroaches, Fox thought with a grin.  
  
Considering they were in a small town in Alabama, he was surprised not to have seen any of the scavenging insects, but he wasn't about to complain. After a week of talking to Billy Bobs and Nellie Mays about local disappearances, he was ready to call it quits. Though it had seemed that alien influence was possible, the reappearing men and women claimed to have been on a religious journey, and that was that. Mulder had his doubts, but aside from the fact that it seemed unlikely the locals would provide any leads, he was worried about Scully; not only did she dislike these kinds of cases, but she'd just seemed so tired lately.  
  
Or maybe it's just my overactive imagination, Mulder thought ruefully. Imagine how she'd feel if she knew I was giving up a lead because I thought she was too weak! He grinned in spite of himself at her probable reaction, and his eidetic mind wandered back to earlier in the night.  
  
Hey, Scully, he had greeted her upon entering their room, having volunteered to tie up the loose ends of their investigation. She had been more than happy to comply, her distaste for the case evident from day one. He had flopped down on his bed, rubbing his temples. I tarred of grits n fatback, he'd said in his most exaggerated southern drawl.  
  
Dana had laughed lightly at her partner, pointing out, You've had no trouble at the complimentary breakfasts all week, Mulder. I saw you wolf them all down.  
  
You sure didn't eat much.  
  
Compared to you? He'd known she could tell he was concerned, and she'd continued in an attempt to appease his worry. I'm fine, Mulder. Believe me, I haven't gone hungry.  
  
He'd nodded, having no choice but to believe her. Then he'd remembered. Oh, Scully, Mr. Whalen said the Moose Lodge convention ended today, so there's some vacant rooms now. Want me to get another?  
  
She hadn't bothered to look up from the TV Guide as she'd answered, Oh, don't worry about it. It's only one more night. Besides, she'd grinned then, sneaking a glance, You don't sleep anyway, so your snoring can't keep me awake.  
  
he'd said in mock defense, I don't snore.  
  
How would you know? Your girlfriends tell you that?  
  
He'd decided it best to change the subject then, wondering if his cheeks looked as flushed as they'd felt. See anything good on Pay-per-View?  
  
Nothing you'd like.  
  
Try me, he'd replied, sitting up against his headboard.  
  
She'd considered it a minute, then warned him, It's a romance, I think.  
  
No problem. Whose?  
  
It's about the life of C.S. Lewis. I remember wanting to see it when it came out, so I think it's supposed to be good.  
  
It's about an author? Scully, aren't there any good blood-and-guts movies on?  
  
She'd looked at him then in mock disapproval, knowing he was only teasing, and reached for the remote.  
  
It hadn't been long before they'd both realized how intensely personal this movie was going to get. told the story of C.S. Lewis' dear friend, who developed cancer, eventually dying from it, though not before the two got married. It had been a definite tearjerker, and Mulder dared not glance in Scully's direction as it played, thankful that they had turned out the lights.  
  
When it had ended, Scully had flicked off the television, casting the room in darkness. Neither had said a word, but Mulder had wiped at his eyes several times, and Scully had had to blow her nose once or twice. After a few minutes, she had crawled under her covers. Good night, Mulder. Her voice had sounded a bit shaky.  
  
'Night, Scully, he'd replied, knowing his voice, too, sounded differently somehow, and glad he had not gotten his own room after all. And now, a good hour later, he was still awake, lying on his bedspread, just thinkin'. The clock read 11:48.  
  
A quote from the movie came back to his eidetic memory, one that had hit home in an eerily disturbing manner. He said it softly into the cool darkness, knowing his partner was sound asleep. No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.  
  
But I AM afraid, too, he realized, an ever growing lump in his throat. I'm so afraid that she's going to die. And then I'll be all alone.  
  
He shook the selfish thought from his head, glancing over at her from where he lay. Suddenly wide awake, he sat up slowly to look more closely at the apparent trickle of blood covering her pale, moonlit cheek. His voice was etched with concern as his eyes studied her. Oh, Dana.  
  
Quickly, he got up and scrounged for the handkerchief he'd known was in his travel bag. Walking quietly up to her, he perched himself carefully on the edge of her bed, gently wiping away the stream on her cheek, and holding the handkerchief lightly to her still-bleeding nose.  
  
It was foggy in her dreams. Dana imagined herself and Mulder in a vast green field, cleansing rain pouring down upon them. The next instant she felt as though in a hospital bed, Mulder beside her, caressing her cheek. Slowly coming to consciousness, Dana realized that Mulder WAS next to her bed, caressing her cheek. The all-too-familiar taste to her mouth signaled the reason, and she blinked her eyes open.  
  
Mulder, give that to me, she said, trying to move away his hand. That's disgusting.  
  
his voice was firm. Stay still, Dana. Let me help. The tone of his voice and use of her first name caused Dana to comply, and she let her arm fall back to her side, laying complaisantly while Mulder dabbed at her nose.  
  
I think it's gone, she gently hinted a few minutes later.  
  
He tentatively removed the stained handkerchief and noticed no more blood was trickling out. He held her steady gaze as she sat up, and he said carefully, I needed to help. But then he had to look away, flashbacks coming to him from the movie, lines running through his head: The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal.' But I don't want that deal! his head screamed as he walked over to the window, his back to her. I want her safe. He cleared his throat self-consciously and remarked without turning, I think there's still some of the Moose guys out there now. Look like Daniel Boone. But he couldn't bring himself to smile.  
  
Dana's eyes were filled with compassion as she watched her partner deal with his emotions. She remembered a different version of the quote Mulder was thinking of, Tomorrow's pain is part of today's happiness.' She sighed, knowing that as hard as it was for her to accept and deal with her fatal disease, she knew how much it would affect Mulder, especially after she was gone. With resolve, she extracted herself from the covers and went to her partner.  
  
The blood-stained handkerchief was still clutched in Mulder's palm, and she took it from him, throwing it into the waste basket. Come here, she said lightly, grasping his hand and leading him to his bed. She sat down, and he was close beside her on the right, releasing her hand and instead wrapping his left arm around her shoulder, his right hand coming full circle and brushing lightly against her arm. The clock read 11:55.  
  
Dana rested her head lightly on his chest as she leaned against his warm embrace. That movie... she said, unable to finish her thoughts, but knowing it was unnecessary. He simply nodded and tightened his grip, gently kissing the top of her head.  
  
Something stirred in her then. Something warm and pleasant and vaguely familiar. A mixture of comfort and safety and friendship. A dash of caring and a bushel of trust. A feeling of an incredible strength and interminable passion. It was power and determination, honor and love. It was fear of the unknown and relief in having someone to hold on to. Dana felt her partner's soft lips on her auburn hair, and she remembered the movie, the love that had been hidden in shadows, realized only upon the illness of one of the would-be lovers. And it hit her then just how appropriate the movie had been.  
  
They were close. Emotionally and, at this point in time, physically. Dana could feel his warm breath blowing softly against her hair, and Mulder felt her breathing lightly on his neck. He had an overwhelming need for her to know that he cared, for her to see just how important she was to him. He kissed her forehead again, and she pulled slightly back this time, her eyes closed. His gaze remained glued to her pretty face, and he knew she had not pulled away in resistance. He leaned his lips down once again and brushed her cheek with them, ever so gently, lingering ever so slightly.  
  
He remained close, feeling their hearts beating as one, their lungs rising and falling in tandem. Dana felt her partner's presence; she was tuned in to every part of him, almost as if he were an extension to herself. Slowly opening her eyes, he was right where she knew, his gaze tender and caring.  
  
She reached her hand up then, a thumb absently stroking his semi-smooth cheek. Her hand wound slowly around to the back of his head, and she pushed his face lightly towards hers, their lips meeting softly, gently. It was a gesture so natural, so right, she vaguely wondered why they had never kissed before.  
  
Mulder felt her hand guide him to her soft lips, and his heart somehow seemed fuller, more complete, as their mouths pressed gently together. The pressure increased slightly before their lips separated, then came together, briefly, once more, before each pulled slowly away, eyes locked and moist.  
  
Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to speak,   
  
She shook her head, a finger to his lip. He kissed it softly, and she moved her hand along his cheek and then through his dark hair. Eyes filled with emotion, knowing she had no reason to hide, no need to be stubbornly independent, and giving him the best gift she knew how, she said, her voice slightly cracking, Just hold me, Mulder. I need you to hold me.   
  
The look in his hazel eyes was reward enough as his strong arms pulled her even closer, his lips gently meeting her crown once again, with her arms snugly around his middle, and his hand firmly holding her head in place against his heart.  
  
And the clock struck midnight.  
  
THE END  
  
  



End file.
